A Stranger
by bullybullet6
Summary: In a labyrinth-like garden Klaus encounters a woman whom he chooses to be his latest inspiration for his next sketch. Long one-shot.


_One-shot that was meant to be very short but ended up being over 3,300 words long. I just my drabble about Klaus being artistic. Would love to hear your comment._

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One would think that after a thousand years of existence I'd have found a more extravagant way to spend my spare time, I haven't though. Niklaus Mikaelson, The Big Bad: here I was, sauntering through a park after sundown in small town Virginia in search of something to inspire my next sketch.

The park held many species of flora, all of them beautiful in their own way. The slender tress towered over everything else, intercepting the rays of moonlight and casting long, dark shadows over the trimmed grass. The bushes, a rainbow of uncountable shades of green were tall and dense, creating walls wherever they met one another. They seemed to turn the park into something similar to a labyrinth. It was a rather large expanse of land, in my opinion: captivating and elegant in an unconventional sort of way. But a garden was a garden; there was only so many times I could recreate the curve of a flower petal with a pencil, or etch the very fine lines of a leaf onto paper

People however, they were always interesting to draw, people's faces were never exactly the same: not twins, not even doppelgangers. An angle of the nose, a curve of the left brow, a scar. In my entire life I'd never come across two people with the exact same face. It was a perplexing ideology, making the act of putting those infinitesimal details on paper even more fascinating.

Thinking about it, perhaps a garden had been the wrong place to visit for my art. I'd just hopped into the car and driven out of mystic falls until I found this place. It was secluded, a few miles from town in one direction, and another mile or so from the neighboring settlement in the other, and it was quiet. Not that I minded the chaos of life in Mystic Falls (in fact I reveled in it). But it was a pleasant pause in the constant drama I so enjoyed creating.

Yes, quiet.

With my pencil and sketch pad clutched loosely in one hand, I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, listening to the whisper of insects and the rustle of leaves. Now that I was actually paying attention to the noises around me, an unexpected sound caught my attention. My brows furrowed as I listened closer so as to ensure my ears weren't finally deceiving me after all these years. Sure enough, the steady _boom-boom_ of a human heartbeat carried through the bushes surrounding me, calm and relaxed. It seemed I was mistaken in thinking I was alone here. Intrigued, I easily followed the sound.

Several bends and twists later I'd reached a clearing hidden amongst the walls of vegetation. There was nothing especially enchanting about it: simple manicured grass, a simple wooden bench to the side, a simple square bed of pale pink flowers in the center, all surrounded by four tall shrubbery walls. But I wasn't here for the scenery anymore; I was here for the woman.

Sat on the far side of the bench, she was leaning forwards with her palms flat on either side of her knees and her ankles crossed beneath the elongated wooden seat. Her head was tilted upwards slightly and her eyes were closed, giving the appearance as if she were sleeping. She wasn't asleep, I knew this. Her heartbeat gave her away, it also gave away that she hadn't heard me yet. Not that I could blame her; if I didn't want to be heard then I wouldn't be heard, unexceptional human hearing or not.

Standing a handful of paces away from the bench, I moved my hands behind my back. Tonight I wasn't the original hybrid, or the local menace to a melodramatic town of irritating fledgling vampires. Tonight I was Klaus, the man looking for nothing more than someone to sketch.

"Lovely evening, isn't it?" I asked in a pleasant greeting.

The woman's eyes flickered open at the sound of my voice. Her head turned to the side as she looked over at me. There was a moment of silence as she blinked, taking note of the new person in her presence. "Quite so."

Her tone was equally as pleasant, not as distant so to wish me away. I took this as allowance to move closer, walking towards her I let my curiosity slip from my lips. "What brings you out here after dark?"

She smiled softly. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Valid argument. But I'm afraid I asked you first and by definition that means you must also answer first."

I sat myself on the opposite end of the bench to her, leaving enough space between us to seat another person. Her smile widened for a fraction of a second before returning to its gentler standing.

"I just so happen to live here."

I let a cheeky grin curl my lips as I feigned bemusement. "You live here? In the garden?"

She chuckled silently and straightened her back, taking the weight off her hands and resting them on her thighs. "No, no. I own this place. There's a little house on the other side of the lake, which I also own."

"You own an entire lake and a botanical garden. What on earth do you do for a living?"

"Work from home mostly, and I take care of the garden and the lake." She answered, titling her head slightly as she watched me. "I inherited the property, if that's what you're wondering- I had a rich grandmother."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I thought the garden was open to the public." Pretending to be guilty came easily to me after having to fake my way out of some very complicated situations in the past.

She believed me completely. "It's quite alright. The garden is open for everyone to enjoy. Though don't ever get visitors out here past sundown. So I'm just curious, why are you here?"

She was too easy to manipulate, too trusting. I gave her a tranquil smile. "I live a few miles away. Mystic Falls. I'm merely out here to escape a rather nasty spot of drama for a while," I slid the sketchpad from beside me onto my lap "and draw."

The woman didn't inquire what drama I was speaking of, instead she gave an interesting 'ooh 'and probed "an artist, huh? Might I ask what you've drawn so far? If you don't mind, that is."

I chuckled lowly. "I don't mind at all, but there is a slight problem, unfortunately." With a single brow raised she waited for me to continue. "I haven't drawn anything yet."

"Oh, that _is_ unfortunate."

It was nice, sitting here and talking. Constantly being at the ready to rip people's hearts out became rather dreary after a few centuries, unfortunately. That thought of course didn't mean I didn't take pleasure in it, for I truly did; there was just something indescribable about the feeling of absolute power that drove me to do such things. But an extremely temporary change was welcome every so often. The woman beside me made an average conversation seem truly enjoyable, if possible, as if the need for plotting and scheming had left my mind almost entirely, and in this moment we were just talking.

Sitting so close to her, despite the veil of darkness even the moon wasn't able to illuminate, I could see her clearer now. The woman wore a fitted, navy t-shirt and black sweatpants rolled to just below her knees. Her hair was incredibly long, cascading over her shoulders, breasts, and back in gentle platinum waves. I was truly unsure of the exact color; It was so blonde it seemed silver, but that could have just been reflection of the moonlight. Her complexion was dark caramel. The woman's brows and lashes were also a blonde though slightly darker in colour and created a stark contrast against her brown skin. Nestled beneath them were her eyes: a simple brown. Her nose was modest and refined, though broadening out as it went, and her lips were the usual shade of dark pink I saw on people every day; they weren't overly plump, nor were they thin. She had no freckles, no moles or beauty spots, no scars. The most defining trait about her was probably her jaw: square and defined.

"I wonder…" I trailed off. I wanted to sketch someone and she seemed to be the only person within at least a mile radius. All the same, no one would interrupt us. "Would you let me sketch you? You're an exquisite specimen." I was blatantly lying to her. Yes, she was quite attractive with her light hair and dark skin, but by no means did I find her as gorgeous as several hundred other women.

She smiled and slithered her fingers into her hair before flipping it all messily to one side. Though I could hear her heart speed up momentarily, she didn't blush or look away bashfully.

 _She's confident_ , I constructed.

"I must admit I've never been called an exquisite specimen before, though that might be a result of me not meeting many people, so thank you. But I should probably head home, it's quite the walk."

I almost dropped my charming smile at that. I didn't want to her to leave just yet. I found it hard to believe that my allure didn't work on her, though her assertive atmosphere was a giveaway that ostentatious flattery wasn't going to pull her in.

"I'm sorry I can't help with your drawing. Nonetheless, you're welcome to stay as long as you like." She stood up with a fond smile. "It was nice meeting you."

I reacted quickly. The art supplies were on the bench and I was blocking her path in an instant. I wanted someone to draw, and I always got what I wanted, one way or another. Without laying a hand on her I held her in place with my gaze, using my willpower to compel her to look at me. Compulsion was easy and one of the first vampire parlour tricks I'd learnt. Willing someone to do something as I wanted was like a second muscle now. "I insist you stay, it would really help me." The smile dropped from her face instantly as she became wholly ensnared in my words. I gestured to the bench. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Her jaw clenched as she fought with herself over whether or not to submit to me, it was only a momentary dilemma as my compulsion overpowered her will and she sat back down on the bench. Her back was straight, her head forward, her hands were in her lap, and her feet were flat on the grass. It was an obedient position, ready to do as I instructed, and despite the countless times I've seen people assume it I was again bathed in exhilarating sensation of sheer power and control.

I placed myself back down on the seat, still leaving the space between us. This time I was straddling the narrow wooden bench, facing her, and shifted my drawing utensils between my knees. This way I could see the woman without having to turn my head; she was now the singular focus of my attention. Skipping past the many pages of graphite on paper, I opened the pad to a blank page. I sat watching her for a few moments, the tip of the pencil in my hand hovering just above the white sheet, moving it about indecisively but never letting it touch the paper. I just couldn't find where to start. She wasn't acting naturally and a rigid, lifeless model was never ideal to draw.

"look at me, love." I dictated gently. Her head turned to me, her brown eyes looked almost black as they met mine. "Why don't you just relax a little? Don't feel obligated to sit completely still, trying moving around and finding a more comfortable position."

She obeyed immediately, pulling one leg up to her chest and hugging it with both arms. Her chin rested on her knee as she looked at me for approval "Will this suffice?" She asked in a cool voice

I nodded, a complacent smile splitting my face in spite of myself at her eagerness to fulfill my demands, compelled though it might have been "That'll do just fine, thanks."

Without hesitating, I put pencil to paper. Curving the shape of her brows first, I swept gentle rounded lines across the page. The outline of her face's shape came next: rounded corners on the forehead, dipping in at the temples, widening at the jaw, and curving on the chin.

I pressed the pencil horizontally between my lips and leaned forwards. I caught her chin between my thumb and forefinger, tilting her head lightly from side to side, up and down. She stiffened for the slightest instant and then relaxed into my touch.

There was a secret to art. Real, lifelike art. With enough skill one could replicate the lines and the details of a face, but the key to bring the true realism onto the piece was to know how the subject moved; the way their lips formed each sound that passed through them, the way their eyes wandered when they weren't being fully attentive, the way their nose crinkled when they smiled. These things- these diminutive dogmas- were the secret to exact art. As I studied her face, it became apparent to me that I wanted to make this woman come _alive_ on the paper.

I was quick to remind myself that no matter how kind or accepting she might have been, I'd sketched numerous woman over the years: a collection of breathtaking beauties. This one was nothing special. Just another plain face.

But I needed to see her move.

"Talk to me, sweetheart." I prompted softly.

"About what?"

"Whatever you like."

She looked around for a few moments, her eyes darting over everything in sight. Eventually, after her eyes had passed over it twice, they stopped on the little bed of pale pink flowers in the center of the small, square clearing.

"The flowers are dying." Was all she said at first. I continued sketching, waiting for her to continue. "Those flowers there, they are a daylily called _hemerocallis_. Though most people just refer to them as pink attractions. They're quite beautiful, wouldn't you say?" She tilted her head to look at me for an answer.

I paused mid stroke and glanced up. I had been too fascinated by the lines of her lips to give a second glance at the flower. Now that I did, I took a moment to admire it. The petals were broad and rounded, each one light pink towards the base and a shade darker at the tip, a subtle gradient merging the two colors along the middle. In the center, where the petals met, were long, creamy-coloured sprouts which would have once had pollen on their tacky ends but were now devoid of any yellow dust. The woman was right; the flowers were dying. There was an elusive wilt to the petals. The flowers themselves were drooping upon their stalks

"They are quite beautiful, yes." I let myself catch her eye fleetingly before I dropped my head back to my sketch "Why did you choose these particular flowers? Sentimental value perhaps?"

My eyes flickered from the paper to her face to see she was grinning amused "No, no. Nothing like that." A hand reached up and disheveled her hair again, this time flipping it to the far side so I had a completely clear view of her face. "They just look nice, is all. It's a shame they'll be brown and twisted by this time tomorrow. That's why I'm out her now."

Without looking up I followed the slope of her nose a second time over, ensuring a defined line, and asked, "Why are they dying?"

I didn't care about the flowers and I knew full well why they were fading, but I wanted her to keep talking.

"The seasons are changing. The daylilies just can't handle the change in weather, I suppose. It'll start happening to the rest of the flowers very soon." Her head turned to me, her cheek now rested on her knee as she regarded me. "I'm assuming you have a house?"

"I do." I grinned haughtily as I finished up the shading of her lips. "A relatively lavish one, at that."

"And you have gardens outside your relatively lavish house?"

"Yes, I do."

"You should spend some time admiring them before they're gone."

I bared my teeth in a wide, teasing grin. "Yes, my lady. Your wish is my command."

The woman fell into a pleasant silence after that. I watched her stare across the clearing, her gaze, unfocused, resting on the high wall of green. I was shading across the sketch now, giving dimensions to the graphite woman on the page.

It was all coming together.

I continued prompting her to speak, to talk about anything she could think of. The woman proceeded to tell me about why Spring was her favourite time of the year (this being mostly due to the fact that her favourite species of flora were at their peak in this season), about how the little fishes in her lake tickled her feet when she waded in the shallows. She explained to me, in great detail, why she preferred vanilla ice cream over chocolate ice cream.

Eventually I pulled my pencil from the page, having completed my last little touch up to the shading of her right cheekbone. The drawing was finished.

I stood, ready to leave. The woman still sat on the bench, awaiting an instruction from me.

"You can move around now, love. You'd best be getting home anyway."

The woman stood, only an inch or so shorter than me at her full height. Her hair swished magnificently with each delicate move she made.

"May I see it?" She queried. "You did say you didn't mind showing me, after all."

I grinned, handing her the open book. "Have at it."

She held the sketch pad with deft fingers. I watched as her eyes scrutinized the page, her tongue darting out slightly to wet her lips. Looking at her now, I found himself reconsidering my initial judgement of her. The face I had so bluntly described as simple was not that at all, but a collection of features that made her dark eyes seem both unreadable and indescribably open at the same time. The movements of her brows and lips when she spoke were enthralling.

The woman looked to me with stupefaction. "This is… It's absolutely sublime!"

"Yes." I agreed, but I wasn't looking at the sketch. "Absolutely sublime."

I cleared my throat, taking the book back and closing it up.

"I'm very grateful for your help, even in spite of it being compelled from you. I'm quite satisfied with the result." I held her gaze strongly. "You will go home and forget our encounter tonight; you merely lost track of time while in the gardens. You will never see me again."

When I stepped back from her, the woman blinked.

"I suppose this is where we part ways." She said with a faint smile. "Have yourself a lovely night."

Then she walked through the gap in the walls, leaving the clearing without looking back.

I sighed tiredly, rubbing against the pencil with my thumb. Now I would head back to Mystic Falls, back to the drama, back to the violence, back to the complicated web of emotions that was its residents. Opening the book, I looked down at her on the page, admiring her; the one person I'd had a pleasantly normal encounter with, and I just compelled her to forget me. She was gone.

I noticed then that I had forgotten to sign the name of the woman in the corner, as I did with all of my other works. I pressed my pencil to the paper before I realized that I did not actually know the woman's name. I thought for a moment as something she had said earlier came to mind. In the blank space at the top corner, I wrote it out in block letters:

 _You should spend some time admiring them before they're gone._


End file.
